Life Among Sages
by Noriah
Summary: Margaret goes on an adventure, that involves escaping from terrorists and moving to London. She's waited her entire fifteen years of life for this. Will she succeed in being magnificent, or will she fail and remain normal?


Life Among Sages

 **Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Sherlock, Doctor Who, or a cat. I do, however, own pants and a tooth brush.**

 **Margaret's thoughts are in Italics.**

Well, I don't really know how it started- I suppose they came up the front steps and rang the doorbell. Anyway, I was upstairs at the time…..but usually you can hear the doorbell from the third floor, so maybe they knocked? I don't know! I was in my bedroom cataloging my extensive rock collection.

They must have been there for a while, because mom was already siting on the sofa crying when I ran into the living room. I wasn't running for any particular reason, I just always run. My dad's always telling me to walk but I have things to do with my life and walking is to slow. The first I heard of them was Mycroft as he said, "And I assume this is her coming in now?" I didn't know the voice but I already knew at that point that someone strange was in the house because the house smelled different than it normally does. I'm really good at remembering scents and which ones go with which people. And this scent was completely unfamiliar. I looked from my crying mom to the two strange men. The voice I had heard from the hallway spoke, and I saw that it belonged to the older of the two gentlemen. _Gentlemen…Gentlemen? Are these guys really gentlemen? Because it seems they have been making my mom cry. Probably gangsters. I'm going to have to proceed with caution._

"Margaret Shockti, I presume?" he said with an odd smile.

"Yeah," I answered cautiously, even though the inside of me was jumping around in excitement. _"Wow, how does this guy know my name? I must be more famous than I thought! And that accent! definitely not a gangster...or maybe he's a British gangster?"_

"You are to be coming with us, if you mother agrees," he said. Turning to my mom he continued ominously, "Though I must say you don't have much of a choice." _"Uh oh, that didn't sound good."_

"Where?" I asked.

"London," he replied as if that was the most expected and normal thing to say.

"London!" I echoed. Turning to my mom I paused my celebration. "Mom, why are you sad?"

"Your mother is sad because you are being forced to leave because a group of angry terrorists is trying to kill you." The younger man answered in a bored monotone.

"Oh," I paused, racking my brain for anything I could have recently done that would merit such a reaction. _"Nope, Nothing."_

"Why do they want to kill me?"

"They've confused you with another target of theirs - name mix up…happens to the best of us."

"Who are you, by the way?" I questioned.

"Oh, I'm Sherlock," the younger guy replied with a slightly smug look on his face. _"Well, someone likes his name."_ His face darkened, "And his is my brother Mycroft."

"And?" I prompted.

Sherlock sighed, "HE, works for the British government, and he dragged me along because he couldn't be bothered with you."

"British government? Why isn't the American government taking care of it?" _"Honestly! We pay this government all this money and what do they do? They get the British guys to take care of it!_

"Because, he also works for the C.I.A. on a freelance basis, so really they are taking care of it" _"Oh, well that's better, I guess. Only, why did the C.I.A. hire an English guy? It's not like they just made a mistake. This guy couldn't get away with being American if he tried!"_

"But why am I going to London?" I still didn't understand.

"Because it's safer, obviously!" he said incredulously. "Why else would we take you there?"

"Sherlock," Mycroft chastised. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Anyway," Mycroft took over the conversation. "You will be coming with us to London,"

"When?"

"Now," _"Now? What do you mean, now?"_

"For how long?"

"That is undetermined as of yet; probably no more than a year," He calmly returned.

"A year!" I exclaimed.

"You will be well cared for," he assured.

"Will I be able to visit?"

"Most assuredly not,"

"Wait, mom, am I going?" I asked, turning back to look at her.

"Yes," she spoke through her tears. She started crying harder. "Shh, mom, don't cry it's not that bad, I'm going to London! I know I promised to take you with me, but given the circumstances….."I drifted off. "What about Dad?"

"Your father has been notified and is en-route now" said Mycroft. "When he arrives both your parents will sign a document giving temporary guardianship rights to me."

"No!" I exclaimed, horrified and slightly disgusted at the thought of being under the protection of that walking manikin. _"Okay, this is starting to sound a bit more permanent then a vacation."_

"It's the only logical way," he said looking at me condescendingly. "And you have absolutely no say in the mater."

" _Way to treat me like a 5 year old! I mean come on, I'm 15!"_

"Give me proof that you are who you say you are." I demanded. He pulled a very official looking card out of his pocket that said C.I.A. After pulling out many more papers to prove his validity I had to agree that either he was who he said he was, or it was a really good con. Either way, very impressive.

"I hope you're satisfied, now run upstairs and pack your things." Sherlock ordered in a bored tone.

"How am I supposed to pack for a year!" I shouted.

"There's no need to raise your voice. We can hear you perfectly fine when you talk in a civil tone, you know," Mycroft chastised. I was about to retort, but he raised his hand for me to stop and continued, "As for your things, a suitcase will be fine for now. It is imperative that we get you out of here quickly. I can send for the rest of your things later. I did bring some boxes, if you have some things you should very much like to take with you." Then he turned away from me and continued talking with my mom. Sherlock nodded towards the door while holding me with his captivating gaze. I, feeling rather sheepish, quickly scurried up the stairs, dragged a suitcase into my room, and began to pack my things.

"Bring some warmer clothes," a voice behind me made me jump. Using my speedy ninja reflexes, I turned and saw Sherlock standing behind me. "London's climate tends to be rather cool." He continued. "But I suppose you would know that seeing as you're obsessed with the area."

"I know that Ireland stays around 50 degrees. I never knew for certain about England. Though, I did think it would be rather cool, with all that fog and rain. Does it rain as much in England as it does in Ireland?" I asked.

"Not quite as much," he answered.

Sherlock sat on my bed and gave suggestions on how to pack, and what he considered important to bring. I was listening at first, but after he said I wouldn't need to bring my books I just tuned him out. _"How_ _am I going to do this! Breathe in, breathe out. I'm going to be gone for a year, what is the first thing I'm going to miss. Right, my blanket. Now what else? Hmm….My journals. What else can I not survive without? My books (obviously)."_ I looked around for some boxes, then stood in front of my bookshelf. _"How am I going to fit all these books into the boxes?"_ All this time I could hear Sherlock droning on behind me. _"Perhaps I should be listening. …Nah, It can't be 'that' important."_ I went back to what I was doing.

Just them I passed my library box –it's a box I made to hold my library books and keep them from getting lost amidst the rest of my collection, I was actually pretty proud of it- My eyes fell on the solitary book lying on the bottom. A tear ran down my cheek as I thought of all the good times that book and I had spent together. I actually had never finished it because it was one of those books that are best read slowly. This realization only increased my grief.

" _Come on Margaret, keep it together. That's it, be brave."_

I was feeling very accomplished at having not broken down into sobs, when Sherlock's voice barged in. ''you're crying," he stated. I wasn't sure what to say to that. I mean, obviously I was crying! Should I compliment him on his *eye roll* wonderful observation skills, or should I tell him that one tear really does not merit the word 'crying'. I really wanted to shout "No, Duh!" but that seemed a bit rude. So I simply opted for a nod.

"I'm going to miss this book," I said quietly. Sherlock did a double take as if he wasn't expecting that. _"Probably prepared for some rubbish about leaving home or something."_ I thought to myself. He rolled his eyes and then said, "If it means so much to you, why don't you bring it?"

"Can't," I replied sadly.

Sherlock huffed impatiently, "Do I really have to keep asking questions, or are you going to volunteer more information?"

"It's a library book." _"I mean, isn't that a bit obvious?"_ "I can't just take it."

"Why not?"

I sighed, "First edition, published in 1930, archived….I can't just take it. Besides, even though others might not appreciate him….." I frowned sadly. "He needs to be there for the world to read."

Sherlock looked at me strangely, I'm used to that. People often stare at my magnificence. After a minute he said slowly – well, slowly for Sherlock – "You're not normal are you?"

" _Really, that's a first."_

"Weeeeell, not exactly – no, I'm not." I smiled. I was proud of it. I make a point to not be normal. Normal is boring.

I spent the afternoon packing my journals, books, soccer equipment _"Oops, got to get used to saying 'futbol'",_ and dance stuff. Oh, and clothes.

Before I went downstairs I took the time to change into a suitable adventuring outfit. After all, something interesting was finally going on-I'd been planning for this sort of thing for my entire life. I wanted to be prepared for anything. I mean, if 'this' could happen what sort of other exciting possibilities were waiting?

So, I put on my favorite pair of dark blue jeans (because dark blue jeans are better than the light ones), a form-fitting blue cat-in-the-hat t-shirt (I love it because it is the comfiest, softest thing in the world after being washed a million times; and who doesn't love the "Cat-in-the-hat"? Come on, Dr. Seuss is genius!), a soft grey hoodie (also one of the comfiest things in the world), and my faded purpley pink converse (they'd seen better days, but I was too loyal to abandon them). Tada! My outfit was complete. I quickly attached my key-chain sonic screwdriver to the belt loop of my jeans, popped a piece of bubble mint gum in my mouth, grabbed my trusty denim backpack, and stepped out of my bedroom to begin my adventures into the realm of the unknown.


End file.
